Page 25 of Broken Vows

“I’ll… call you back,” I tell her before ending the call.

His eyes move from my face to my stomach and back again, like he’s trying to solve a complex equation.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the August heat seeping through the windows. The dust from his work boots spreads across the hardwood floor as he shifts his weight–he must have come straight from the job site.

“I…” His voice cracks. He clears his throat and tries again. “I should…” He gestures vaguely at his fallen keys but doesn’t move to pick them up.

More silence. The ceiling fan whirs overhead, stirring the air between us. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple, leaving a clean line through the workday grime on his face.

“When…” He stops, shakes his head. Starts again. “I mean…” Another head shake.

He takes half a step into the room, then stops, like he’s hit an invisible wall. His eyes catch on my painting–the cardinal and butterfly. Something flickers across his face.

“You’re drawing again,” he says finally, latching onto this safer topic like a lifeline.

“I’ve been at it here and there.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. “Needed to… to do something today to distract myself.”

His hand goes to his hair–that familiar nervous gesture that used to make my heart flutter. Now it just makes my chest ache.

“I should go.”

Part of me wants to stop him, to make him stay and figure this out right now. But what is there to figure out? We’re divorced. We’re having a baby. Both things are true, and neither of us knows what to do with that reality.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Okay.”

He bends slowly to pick up his keys, his movement careful like he’s underwater. Standing up, he takes one more look at me, opens his mouth as if to say something else, then turns and walks away.

I listen to his footsteps down the hallway, counting them. Thirteen steps to the front door. The familiar squeak of the third floorboard. The door opening, closing.

The cardinal in my painting seems to watch me with its eyes, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next. I wish I knew.

Chapter Sixteen

Morning sickness should really be calledall-day sickness. I’ve already thrown up twice, and it’s barely 8 in the morning. The bathroom tile is cool against my legs as I sit back, waiting to see if my stomach has settled.

Each wave of nausea is a reminder that this is real. That I’m really pregnant.

My phone sits on the counter. The number for the women’s clinic pulled up but not yet dialed. I’ve been putting this off for days, but I need to make an appointment. Need to make sure everything’s okay. Need to make this official beyond three positive home tests.

The call is surprisingly easy. The receptionist is cheerful, matter-of-fact. “First pregnancy?” she asks.

“Yes.” I don’t mention the divorce. Don’t mention that the father doesn’t even live here anymore.

“We can get you in next Thursday at 10 AM. with Dr. Larson.”

I add the appointment details in my phone’s calendar.

“Okay, thank you.” I say and hang up. The toast I manage to eat tastes like cardboard, but it stays down. Small victories. I’ve started keeping crackers by my bed, learning to eat before I evensit up in the morning. My body is already changing its routines, and I’m just trying to keep up.

Seven days since Jeremy found out. Seven days of silence. I check my phone again–no messages from him, none from Lilly, either. What is going on? The house feels emptier somehow, like the news has created a vacuum that’s sucking all the air out.

I spend the morning cleaning, trying to keep my hands busy. The kitchen first, then the living room. When the doorbell rings, my heart leaps into my throat when I open it to see him standing on the porch, hands in his pockets, looking as nervous as I feel. No orange work shirt today–just a plain grey t-shirt and jeans. He looks younger somehow.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Can we talk?”

I step aside to let him in, noting how he hesitates at the threshold, like he’s not sure if he belongs here anymore. We end up in the kitchen–neutral territory.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, leaning against the counter where he used to eat breakfast every morning. “About us. About everything.”

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